A brick and a blanket need a logo, and I’m just the designer to hire to sit around idly as I ideally charge you by the hour.


A brick could be used to grow your annual income by a factor of four. What, you don’t believe me? Are you calling me a liar?


A brick could be used as a Sexual Orientation Device. But I don’t need it, because I know my sexual orientation—north!


A brick could be used like the point where always meets never. I mean come on, who wouldn’t want to watch a brick levitate? 


A brick could be used to keep you warm at night, in the same way that a blanket could be used to smother a lover while they sleep.


I want to merge running a marathon and doing a handstand into one action. It will look similar to how I’d make love to a mannequin.

I’d dig a hole the size of the grand canyon to find a love the size of an acorn, and I’d use a shovel the size of a squirrel.

A brick could be given as a graduation gift to a C student. It’s like here, welcome to a life in the construction industry. 


A brick could be used to tell the time. If you can see it it’s daytime, and if you can’t see it it’s nighttime. 


My car would look better with a mustache for a bumper. Then pedestrians would know that I am a superior lover, just before I hit on them.

Love is a trampoline of the heart. It has its up, it has its downs, and I’m selling mine for $100.00—only been jumped on once.

A blanket could be used to help frowners smile. I’m only halfway through the process myself, which is why I’m smirking.


My nickname isn’t Scarface—it’s Scarf Ace. I make knitted neck warmers like I make love—one grandmother at a time.

The Italians say “Chow.” To them it means “Bye,” but to me it means food. Of the greetings, goodbye is the desert.

Voting for the lesser of two evils is still voting for evil. Next time, why don’t you go all out and write in Lucifer on the ballot?